


I've been here all night (And boy got me walking side to side)

by thetispydrunk (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Bottom John Watson, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Extremely Dubious Consent, How Do I Tag, I'm Going to Hell, Incest sorta? But John's adopted, Loss of Virginity, M/M, No Lube, Non canon compliant, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Top Sherlock, Unrealistic characterisation, daddylock, shotajohn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 19:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16771588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thetispydrunk
Summary: "A mind palace? You store things in there and you-you never forget anything? That's amazing.""Only information, events, people of any importance. It's a hard drive.""What am I like in your mind palace?" John suddenly cast his eyes down, suddenly shy. "I mean, if I have a place in there."There was only one place John Watson had belonged in his Daddy's mind palace- squirming and writhing on the end of a thick cock, crying his eyes out as he was pounded from behind.Sherlock smiled. His father-knows-best smile that he had perfected over the years for his little boy."Why John, it wouldn't be my mind palace without you in it."Alternatively: Filthy, non-consensual, kinky smut for those who are looking for a one-way ticket to hell with me.





	I've been here all night (And boy got me walking side to side)

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely not everyone's cup of tea and contains graphic and sexualised rape of minors. Please take note of the tags before diving headfirst into reading.

Adopting John Watson was, like most decisions made in Sherlock’s life, for a case.

The details were irrelevant now, a prostitute with a string of ex-lovers and a missing baby, but it became imperative that Sherlock needed to adopt a child in order to pose as a father. He had waved off Mycroft’s disapproval with a brilliantly timed “Piss off”, and proceeded to file out the legal procedures.

In all honesty, he had expected to be bored by the selection of children offered, they were all the same: crying, spewing and a general tendency to irritate him as the only means of holding his attention.

Then he saw John Watson. Eight years old, plush lips and had a tendency to look up at him through his lashes in a way that went straight to any grown man’s cock.

“Mr Holmes, John is one of the bouncers, he keeps getting sent back to the orphanage, it’s a shame you know.”

Sherlock waved them off, it was obvious why John hadn’t found a home yet- the first family had issues with adoption, the second had misjudged the effort required in raising a child, the third had an alcoholic that was forced by the authorities to send the child back. None of the faults was the boy’s of course, but children being children, John seemed to have the absurd notion in his head it was anyways.

“You’ll send me back here,” he whispered, tugging at his small hands. “I’m not a good boy.”

Sherlock knew then, without a doubt as he signed the papers half-hard under the desk, that he was done for.

“I don’t like good boys, John.”

**X**

The first time John had been spanked by Sherlock was also when Sherlock knew he was beyond the point of no return.

It was only for a bit of backtalk, but the moment Sherlock had pulled down his little boy trousers and had him hauled over his lap, getting his hand on that plush bottom seemed more like a treat for Sherlock than anything else.

He remembers filthy it was, how every hard spank had sounded like the slick slap of a good fucking, and how he had to clench his fingers from wanting to prise into the little arsehole, wanting to dip in just a knuckle, just to know how his little John felt.

“Daddy! Ugh-Please, No more!”

Sherlock’s voice was wrecked as he dropped it to a gravelly growl. The word had never been used like this with him, not in this context.

“Please what John?” He punctuated the question with another firm slap. “Will you be a good boy for daddy? Show him respect in all things?”

“A-ah!” John had managed to gasp out, eyes stinging. “I'll be a good b-boy, I promise daddy, please!”

Sherlock had released John, when his bottom was red and his hands were stinging, the boy falling asleep within minutes after the punishment, his mouth falling open as he dozed off. Sherlock remembers the hard-on he was sporting, wondering what it would be like just to slip the tip between those pink lips. 

It took all of Sherlock’s willpower to tuck John into bed, walk into his own room and wank himself stupid.

That night he dreamed about a small, wet, silken mouth on his cock.

The morning after, he banned John Watson from ever using the term “Daddy” again.

It’s too childish, he had maintained. You are to call me father from now on. John had acquiesced, albeit confusedly.

But they both knew, whenever things got too hard- caught in the middle of a cry or angry beyond reason at Sherlock’s insensitivity or when he was completely, incandescently happy – “Daddy” was still John’s favourite endearment to use.

**X**

There is an entire wing in Sherlock’s mind palace, deep into the heart of the architecture that is especially dedicated to his baby boy. From his shoe size to how he liked his tea to the hypothetical noise John would make as he was taken.

He had only told John parts of this of course, when he was thirteen and still coming to terms with the fact his father was a certified genius.

"A mind palace? You store things in there and you-you never forget anything? That's amazing."

"Only information, events, people of any importance. It's a hard drive."

"What am I like in your mind palace?" John suddenly cast his eyes down, suddenly shy. "I mean, if I have a place in there."

There was only one place John Watson had belonged in his Daddy's mind palace- squirming and writhing on the end of a thick cock, crying his eyes out as he was pounded from behind.

Sherlock smiled. His father-knows-best smile that he had perfected over the years for his little boy.

"Why John, it wouldn't be my mind palace without you in it."

**X**

These days it was only more apparent that John was becoming more and more delectable. His rounded cheeks had hollowed out over the years. John’s blue eyes mischievous and good humoured and he had a heart of gold. At fourteen years, he started attracting admirers left and right. 

Sherlock isn’t the only one who’s seen the potential of those pouty lips, those trusting eyes.

There was the rugby team as well of course that John had joined. Sherlock didn’t miss how half the team eyed his son during drills where John bent over.

John, for his part, seemed oblivious save his obvious blush when girls complimented him after a game.

**X**

Things that describe John Watson: fourteen, captain of the rugby team, straight as an arrow. Sherlock lets him indulge his fantasy.

Because Sherlock’s seen the cheap porn on his laptop, where buried underneath all the expected all the cheap generic tapes of girls girls girls there was one that had him bite his lip hard. It had to be John’s favourite, given the number of times he’s frequented it- shamefully no doubt- as it was buried underneath piles of generic porn.

BLONDE TWINK TAKES COCK FROM HIS DADDY DOM

Sherlock had watched the video when John was away for rugby: It had featured an underage blonde, getting on his knees and hands. The man that was holding him down looked a little like Sherlock: pale skin, dark hair as he spread the cheeks and took the boy from behind. He watched rapt, as the cock disappeared into his hole, over and over and over. It took little deductive skills to know what sordid fantasies John was thinking of whenever he frequented this page.

After this discovery, Sherlock left the bathroom deliberately unlocked as he went to the loo- call it an experiment of sorts. He heard John’s steady footsteps up the steps, right on time at quarter past four, after his usual training. He’d have drunk at least a litre of water during that time, which meant that he would predictably need to use the loo right about-

The door swung open.

“Oh god,” John spluttered his eyes darting from Sherlock’s face to his still untucked dick, he saw the small widening of John’s eyes, so quick that it would have been missed if he hadn’t been paying attention. A range of emotions flitted through the boy’s expressive features, from shock to curious desire to confusion to shame before carefully shuttering closed and settling on uncomfortable. Sherlock could read the thoughts that raced through his head, picking them apart with ease. He could see the needy way John had fought to keep his gaze on the wall when Sherlock readjusted his pants as if dying for another glimpse of his Father’s prick.

John’s tongue darted between his lips. Sherlock felt something curl at the pit of his belly as he pushed past John with smooth “Apologies”, his hypothesis confirmed. Dilated pupils, irregular breathing- honestly, it was child’s play.

Straight as an arrow?

John Watson would have better luck convincing him the sky was neon green. 

**X**

Only John didn’t seem to come to terms with that little fact.

When John had come home on a Friday night with his customary “I’m back, Father”, Sherlock was jousted from his previous lounge across the couch by the fireplace. To the ordinary eye, everything seemed as it usually was. John was by this point skilled enough in trying to cover up secret rendezvous with his (numerous) girlfriends, honed in the art of discretion as one must be after living with Sherlock, and had Sherlock been a lesser man, he certainly would’ve been fooled.

With a brief glance across John, Sherlock had more than enough clues to deduce what had happened. His hair was neatly patted down (an attempt to manage himself), he was walking with a slightly wider gait (telling, his underwear was definitely still sticky from the rutting), his face reddened (Did he like it? Was he honestly that pleased with what meagre satisfaction Veronica-such -and-such offered? A mutual getting off? Sherlock could show him so much more, blow his mind until he forgot her name.) But all he said was:

“Hn.”

John’s birthday was only a week away. Discarding the thoughts he had been entertaining before of a proper medical kit, he had decided that perhaps it was high time John learnt who he belonged to.

Sherlock pulled up a new page, and keyed into the search bar “Nearest adult toy shop.”

**X**

John just really needed more obvious hints, and Sherlock could be generous enough to oblige, even if he had to fuck the clues into him. 

Sherlock took a while to admire the view of John chained by the fireplace. It was almost romantic in a way, he mused, as his eyes raked over the teen. Spread on all fours, John’s arms were tied together and he was pressed on his elbows, this position obvious when you saw how his legs were chained up.

Each knee was bound by a circle of steel and chained to opposite walls, ensuring that John couldn’t close his thighs any further, lest he tried to hide himself, leaving his prick dangling between his legs humiliatingly. Spread open. Perfect for mounting.

The chains that tethered John to the fireplace clinked as he prised apart John’s thighs underneath his fingers, the lovely white flesh supple and taut. Sherlock slid his belt buckle off and unzipped his trousers, as he the heavy leather hitting the floor with a clink.

“Wha-what are you—“

His cock filled out in a few seconds at the sight of John all lovely and spread out before him, a feast for all the senses.

“What am I doing? Can’t you venture a guess, John?”

“No, please, Father—“

He cut the boy off as he began to press forwards against the hole, but his member slipped; instead it slid against the younger boys’ own cock with a lewd slick noise, drawing out a particularly whorish moan from John. Deciding he liked it, Sherlock did it again, and again.

And again.

John was hard by the time he finished, he’d effectively coated the younger boy’s cock with his own precome from rutting against it. It bobbed up and down, all slick and shiny by the firelight. Sherlock leaned over and whispered in his ear as his fingers travelled lower to play with it.

“Hardly seems like rape now does it? When your own little prick seems to like it so much?”

He punctuated each statement with a tug on the small, hardening dick beneath him. John moaned another one of his slutty little moans, and it went straight to Sherlock’s cock, simply begging him to fuck the younger boy fast and hard until he was torn in half on his prick.

The boy underneath him writhed as Sherlock curled his fingers up and down the shaft, mercilessly pulling at it like it was a sort of toy, relishing how it started to pinken and dribble beneath his hands. One of the wriggles brought the pert little arse right against his own forgotten cock and John’s sobs were suddenly cut off with a whimper.

“Oh? You like that do you?” Sherlock ground his erection down against the arse underneath him, liking how it settled thick and hot and heavy between the boy’s cheeks. John attempted to close his legs but the chains pulled taut, keeping his arsehole ripe and open for his Daddy.

“Father, please.” John’s lips were wet as a sluts’, the words barely made it into his head, pleas falling on deaf ears. So long had Sherlock wanted to fuck his little adopted son, wanted him splayed across his lap and riding his cock like a prize horse that he was beyond reason, a task only John could accomplish.

With an almost inhuman groan, he lined his cock up against the plush little rosy asshole, virginal and unprepped, ignoring the chocked out whimper from below. Sherlock harshly tugged John’s cock below himself to collect any leftover slick and lubed himself up one handed.

“Father, don’t—”

He pressed apart those perfect boyish cheeks again. Underneath he saw John’s head bow, defeated as he tried one last time to stall the inevitable.

“Daddy. Please.” He whimpered.

Sherlock grinned above him, feral.

“Wrong answer, baby boy.”

He worked the tip of his cock inside, relishing how tight the bud was, how hard John clenched to try and force him out, but in the end Sherlock’s determination was too much and he could feel his cock slipping into the small body beneath him, the bulbous tip stretching the hole to a size that had never been felt before. The scream that tore itself from John’s throat was near inhumane.

“Stop! No more! Oh god, please!”

The noise was exquisite all high and girlish, it was almost as if John was doing it on purpose, he shivered as he felt himself grow even harder. He knew how he wanted his first time with John, to hear those cries from the boy as he took him raw, Daddy’s dick and nothing else. If anyone could do it, it was John.

Sherlock remembered how hard he had gotten every time he beat John when he was younger, remembering how every squeal had sounded like John was being fucked.

He remembers coming in his silk trousers when John had thrown his head back after a particularly aggressive beating and screamed: “please, daddy, stop!” Sherlock should have made the boy lick the come out of those pants for all the trouble he had caused him, being too damn delectable for his own good.

And now, he watched as John yelled and screamed and writhed, his chains straining but his arse still on display, shamelessly screwed open, half-filled with Sherlock’s prick. John looked obscene like this, in the process of taking his first cock. Sherlock decided he liked this, and besides John didn’t seem like he could take much more anyway, so he pulled out until only the tip was left inside.

John relaxed immediately below him, obviously thinking this was over. Sherlock hid his grin when he snapped his hips and fucked into him again, only burying himself halfway.

“Don’t you know baby boy?” Sherlock growled low into the boy’s ear. “This is how fucking works, or did Veronica not teach you that?”

He smirked when he felt a full body shiver run through the body beneath him.

“Please, I’ll do anything, just stop! Father, no more!”

“Anything?”

Sherlock dropped his voice into a growl as he ruthlessly fucked his son into the carpet.

“Anything.” John bit out between gasps, “just-“

“Call me Daddy, if you want it to be over soon.”

He could feel John screwing his eyes shut, no doubt, he had worked out with horror how turned on Sherlock grew when this little nickname was used.

“Da-AHH!”

John was cut off with a downright scream as Sherlock sheathed himself completely into John with a growl, he drank in how the blonde boy’s head thrown back, as his mouth opened as wide as it could, shrieking, begging. Still, John bit out in between yells.

“Oh, D-daddy! Ah, AH! Daddy, please!” he was being shoved forward into the carpet with every thrust, the carpet rubbing against his knees and elbows. “Nngh, I cah- can’t take any more—!”

“Do you like that Johnny? Like a huge, adult cock stretching, stuffing your baby boy hole? You’re going to feel so wet, so empty between the arsecheecks when I’m done with you. You’ll be begging daddy to plug you up with his cock again and again and again.” He punctuated the last word with a particularly ruthless thrust and was rewarded with a wrangled yelp. “This is your purpose, you were made to take it, take it all.”

Sherlock fucked him fast and filthy. He relished how John’s arse looked everytime his cock entered his son, watching the hole stretch around the hard meat forced into it until it looked like it could burst, then shrink until it looked as virginal as a few minutes ago, coyly squeezing the tip. Sherlock memorised how John looked, impaled on his first prick, lying face down and taking it. Those thighs straining against the restraints as Sherlock gripped his skinny hips and raped him with violence. Suddenly, he hit a spot that made John’s back arch off the carpet, his voice rising even higher, the walls around them reverberating as he screamed like a whore given a good proper fucking.

“DADDY!”

He felt John’s arsehole tighten as the younger boy’s dick sprayed globs of white on the red carpet below. Sherlock’s last coherent thought was that he should collar John up to lick them clean before he felt his son spasm around his prick, that tight heat clenching even tighter it tried to milk the thick, adult cock buried inside it. Sherlock grunted an almost inhuman groan, forcing his prick into his baby boy again hard, feeling the arsecheeks part beneath him to take him one last time as he spilt his seed inside the fifteen-year-old.

“Take it John”, he felt as he rode out his orgasm, imagining the thick white strips spurting inside his son, painting his insides with his own father’s semen. The younger boy went limp, letting himself be used and filled, drool dribbling down his chin. “Take my cock and my come like a good boy. All my love filling you up to the brim.”

Sherlock felt himself soften in John, reluctantly pulling out with a wet squelch and was met with resistance when the hole gripped and clenched tightly around the tip, begging for a second filling. Sherlock glanced down at John again, the boy was spread open, but no longer did John strain against his chains. His hole was red, puffy and definitely not-so-little anymore. John slumped forward, baring his arse to the world, letting everyone know he was owned.

Sherlock eyed the ooze of come that followed, feeling a wolfish satisfaction that it was his, filling John up so far until it trickled out of his arse, dribbling down his thighs and balls. It gave him an inexplicable urge to shove his cock back in, force his come into John until it oozed out of every hole in his body, until it came out of his ears, impossible as it was.

God, he felt himself grow hard again. His transport hadn’t even shown this much interest when he was a teenager. He saw John move a little from the corner of his eye.

“You’re absolutely sick.” The boy managed to croak out. “Let me go.”

Sherlock almost rolled his eyes. How dull. But John needed a little more teaching obviously, meaning rather than letting John suck his cock, he was going to have to feed it to him.

“Says the boy who was clenching as hard as he could when his first cock tried to pull out.” Sherlock informed as he unlocked each of the restraints on John’s legs to turn him over on his back, catching him around the knee with a forefinger and thumb when John tried to kick his way out.

“Get off of me!”

“None of that now John,” he admonished as he redid the fastenings on his thighs. “I could make this harder than it has to be. At least you ended up coming during our last round.”

Sherlock had him on his back now, arms still tied to his front, legs still chained apart. Sherlock felt a hot lick of arousal at the bottom of his gut when he saw how John’s cute prick looked, pink and exposed and soft. He wasted no time seating himself over his son’s chest, feeling himself harden at the fear sparking in those blue eyes.

“W-what are you doing?” John, ever brave, even after being taken in the arse tried to keep his voice steady. But it was probably a difficult feat with the largest cock you’ve seen curving down at your face. “Get that thing away from m-mmh!”

Sherlock’s thighs clamped down on either side of his face, squeezing until his lips puckered out into an “O”. John tried to turn away but Sherlock only clamped in harder, wanting to see every expression that he missed out raping him from behind, the kind of fucked out expression fifteen-year-old John Watson would make as he was force-fed his very first cock.

There was a predatory glint in Sherlock’s eyes as he allowed the tip to slap against the forced pout of John’s lips, revelling in the glistening trail of precome it left. John looked like he wanted to cry, and slid himself inside the tight wetness.

“Mmf! Mmmgh!” John choked, sounding small and helpless.

Sherlock threw his head back if he thought John’s noises were erotic, they sounded even lewder muffled by his prick. God, he could feel how his throat contracted around his cock, gagging and squeezing him.

“Choke on it baby, choke on daddy’s fat cock,” Sherlock braced himself on all fours over John’s head, rutting into the teen’s face violently, his dick sliding in and out making obscenely slick, slapping noises. “Doesn’t it taste good? It’s all you’ll be thinking about when you eat every meal, you’ll be wishing for something thick to stretch out your lips and fill you up, wishing everything tasted half as good your daddy’s come.”

He gazed down at John and was not disappointed with the sight he was greeted with. John Watson was utterly debauched, his half-lidded blue eyes overspilling with tears, looking back up at Sherlock through his lashes. Those plush lips were now stretched around his cock filthily, drool had managed to spill out in between, dripping down his chin. All of this, held in place between Sherlock’s pale thighs, unable to move, forced onto the ground and taking meat like a good boy. With every stroke inwards, he saw how John’s cheeks filled out, and every time he pulled out his prick glistened by the firelight, thoroughly wet from his son’s saliva.

“Nnnghh…”

There was less resistance now, he triumphed as John’s muffled cries turned into something almost sensual, almost like a pleasurable whine as he lay there limply taking it like a puppet doll, a fucktoy.

But nothing prepared Sherlock for a violent shudder that went through him when the small mouth started sucking, the gag reflex was gone now. The small silken heat on his cock naughtily swallowing around him, those lips wrapping around him hungrily, trying to take more.

“You absolute whore, John.” Sherlock gasped out as he felt that throat open up even further after a particularly deep thrust, welcoming him now. There was a dullness in John’s eyes, no longer resisting. “How did I raise such a cockslut? Doesn’t it feel so good finally accepting what you are? Both your holes, stuffed full of Daddy’s thick prick like I said you would love.”

Finally, after a particularly petulant suck, Sherlock gave out, fingers tangling in blonde hair as he drove into John’s mouth, trying to bury himself impossibly deeper in the wetness, and burst his load, uncaring of how his balls slapped against the boy’s chin. He didn’t pull out, letting it soften in John’s mouth, giving him no choice but to swallow. Underneath him, lips stuffed full of prick John obliged, the small muscles of his throat working hard to swallow everything that was being planted down his throat, milking whatever was left in his father. Sherlock threw his head back and groaned, slowly, dragging out of the tight heat, inch by inch, until it completely slipped out with a wet “pop”.

Dressing himself, Sherlock turned and admired the image John made, still chained to the fireplace. He smirked as he noted how John’s erection jutted out, a lewd suggestion that let on exactly how much John had ended up liking it. Not so innocent after all.

Sherlock gave him one last glance before he left, memorising John with his legs splayed, puffy and used arsehole still drooling his semen, the sweaty sheen that coated his honeyed body and of course: the newly fifteen-year-old’s brokenly fucked out expression, lips still parted and a mess of tears, come and drool, eyes dazedly staring up at the ceiling.

“Happy Birthday John.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, this is non-beta'd so if any mistakes are begging to be fixed, feel free to point them out. I'm thinking about whether or not to continue this fic and ideas for a potential next chap would be appreciated!


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